


Out Of Place

by Dannyblue



Category: Charmed, Smallville
Genre: Crossover, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2148618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dannyblue/pseuds/Dannyblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What’s stranger than being a teen-aged alien? How about being the son of a Charmed One? A Smallville/Charmed Crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Have a nice day, Mrs. Kent," the clerk said as he pushed her purchases across the counter.

"You too, Dave," Martha said, a cheerful lilt in her voice. As she lifted the shopping bag, she offered him a friendly smile. "And tell Molly I said 'hi'."

There was a bounce in her step as she left the hardware store. And she said a bright 'hello' to every customer she passed. As she stepped outside, she took a deep breath. The sun was shining. The air was crisp, but not too cool. It was a beautiful day, which fit her mood perfectly.

She wasn't sure why but, this morning, she woke up feeling…good. Really good. Maybe because, for the last two weeks, life for the Kents had been almost boring. There was no-one snooping around, trying to uncover the family secrets. Jonathan was almost back to his old self again. Clark hadn't had to save anyone from meteor mutants, garden-variety criminals, or life-threatening accidents. And the sheriff hadn't been to the farm in ages.

It wasn't that she liked being bored. If she did, she never would have gone to work for Lionel Luthor. But, for two and a half years, so much of the "excitement" in her family's lives was negative. A long stretch of normal was a welcome relief.

A smile on her lips, Martha walked towards the curb. At the moment, things weren't busy in "downtown" Smallville. It was that quiet time, when everyone was in school or at work, toiling at their farms, or running their households. There wasn't another person in sight, and no traffic to speak of.

Stepping out into the empty street, she walked towards the truck. She was halfway across when her right foot sank into a pothole. Her ankle twisted, sending a sharp pain shooting up her leg. Knocking her off balance.

Martha let out a started cry as she pitched forward. Heart leaping in her chest, she crashed to the ground. Her packages scattered. Her palms scraped against the cement.

For one long moment, she lay still, too stunned to move. Then, with a soft moan, she pushed herself into a sitting position. As her right ankle started to throb, she glared at the pothole.

"That's what you get, Martha," she muttered. "You were enjoying your good mood so much, you jinxed yourself."

 

* * *

 

Herbert Jackson prided himself on being a good driver. Since he got his license fifty years ago, he'd never had a single accident. He obeyed the speed limit, never got behind the wheel without his glasses, even though he could see almost as well without them, and followed all the rules of the road. He looked down his nose at people who put on make-up or talked on cell phones while driving. You'd never catch Herbert Jackson doing something so reckless.

Still, he loved his coffee.

Safely stopped at a stop sign, he took the lid off of a cup of steaming hot coffee from his favorite diner. None of those fancy-shmancy frou-frou concoctions for Herbert Jackson. He liked his coffee the way it was meant to be. Black, no sugar, and strong. And, preferably, not made by his wife. He loved that woman, but an expert coffee-maker she was not.

As he made a left turn, Herbert started to take a sip of his coffee. And that's when his fingers decided to get clumsy. The cup slipped from his grasp and, just like that, he had a lap full of liquid fire.

With a startled scream, Herbert rose out of his seat. His head slammed into the roof of his truck. His foot pressed down on the gas pedal.

 

* * *

 

Martha was on her knees, gathering her fallen packages, when she heard it. The loud, angry roar of an engine. Glancing up, she saw a truck racing down the street, a massive blur of steel and chrome.

She jumped to her feet, with every intention of getting out of the way. But, when she put her weight on her right foot, her ankle gave out. As she stumbled, almost fell again, she realized she'd never get out of the way in time.

And that's when she heard a strange sound coming from behind her. It was like music, but not. Like chimes over a melodic hum. Like…light trying to sing.

Suddenly, two strong hands grabbed her shoulders. And the world dissolved into sparks of electric blue.

 

* * *

 

Herbert Jackson's truck barreled harmlessly across the spot where Martha Kent had been. As the pain in his lap faded to a tolerable level, he eased his foot off the gas.

He never knew how close he came to having his very first accident.

 

* * *

 

It was only an instant, but it felt like an hour. Millions, billions, of neon blue lights, each as small as a drop of rain, danced before Martha's eyes. Her body tingled all over as little painless shocks pricked at her skin. She felt like she was moving, but standing still at the same time.

In the next instant, the electric blue sparks began to fade, and the 'real world' took shape around her. And that's when her stomach dropped. As a wave of dizziness crashed over her, the world started to tilt.

"Hey," a concerned voice said from behind her. A hand grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. "Take deep breaths. You'll be alright in a minute."

Martha gasped for air, closing her eyes so she couldn't see the world spinning. As her dizziness faded, she opened her eyes, took in her surroundings. And she realized she wasn't where she'd expected to be.

Eyes wide with shock, she frantically looked around at her surroundings. She wasn't in the street anymore. In fact, she wasn't anywhere near it. Instead, she was in…an alley. The one next to the gift shop, as a matter of fact.

"Are you okay?"

Startled because, for a moment, she forgot she wasn't alone, she swung around.

The young man watched her with worried green eyes. She'd guess he was in his late teens, or early twenties. He was tall, over six feet, with dark brown hair. And there was a freckle on the left side of his nose.

"What…?" Martha began, thoughts racing. "How did you…?" Unable to find the words, she simply stared at him. The fear she felt when in the path of that truck was replaced with fear of a different sort. Her mind was flooded with memories of Alicia, who could move from one place to another in the blink of an eye. Who'd stalked Clark, hurt her own father, and held a knife to Lana's throat.

And there were people all over Smallville who, like Alicia, had been effected by the meteors. Martha, and many of the people she knew, had had experiences with meteor mutants—as Chloe liked to call them. And, with only a few exceptions, those experiences hadn't been pleasant.

Was he…?

Maybe the young man saw the fear in her eyes. Suddenly, he seemed cautious. Defensive. Spine straightening, he took a step back. "You're okay now," he said. "So I guess I'll…"

"Wait!" Martha was surprised to hear herself exclaim. Without meaning to, she took a step forward. "You saved my life!" It was like saying the words out loud made them sink in. A tremor raced through her body. If not for him, she could be dead. If he hadn't done whatever he did…

"It's okay," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I just…"

For a moment, he looked for all the world like a little boy trying to hide the fact that his feelings had been hurt. Familiar with the puppy-dog look—Clark had perfected it years ago—Martha's heart clenched with guilt. Someone saves her life, and she thanks him with suspicion. Was this what her own son had to look forward to? Being feared by the people he rescued?

Martha stepped closer, so he could see she wasn't afraid anymore. "Thank you."

It took a moment but, eventually, his too-serious-for-his-age expression melted into a boyish, almost shy smile. "You're welcome."

Martha smiled in return. "I think it's only fair you know the names of the people you save." She held out her hand. "I'm Martha Kent."

After a second's hesitation, he returned the handshake. "I'm Chris," he said. "Chris Halliwell."

 


	2. Chapter 2

"It's alright." Martha Kent's smile was kind, understanding. "I know what you are."

Chris's eyes widened in surprise. "You do?"

She nodded. "I've met people who've been effected by the meteor rocks before. And it's okay."

Chris frowned in confusion. He had no clue what she was talking about.

_Meteor rocks?_ he thought. Whatever they were, she thought they were responsible for how he'd saved her. Which, now that he thought about it, was perfect. It was easier than explaining he could orb because his father was whitelighter.

Chris wasn't a deceitful person by nature. But he could be stingy with the truth. Besides, the conclusions people jumped to sometimes worked better than any lie you could tell them.

"Your secret's safe with me," Mrs. Kent continued.

"Uh, thanks." With a shy smile, he pushed his hands into his pockets.

"And I'm so sorry about the way I reacted. You just…caught me by surprise."

"It's okay," Chris reassured her. "Anyone would've reacted the way you did." Besides, he hadn't been upset for the reasons she thought. Where he came from, people often looked at him that way, especially when they found out who his brother was. And being feared for things you hadn't done? Not fun.

"Halliwell," Mrs. Kent muttered thoughtfully. "That name sounds familiar. Maybe I know your family?"

"Um, I doubt it. I don't really know anyone around here. I'm just sort of passing through."

"Passing through?"

"Yeah. I've been, um…traveling around," Chris improvised. "You know, seeing what there is to see."

"You mean hitching?" The disapproval was clear in her voice.

"Uh, yeah. I guess." Chris tried not to squirm. At that moment, she reminded him a lot of his mother. "Smallville seemed like a nice place to take a break. Maybe get a job to earn some cash."

Mrs. Kent's disapproval turned into concern. "If you don't know anyone here in town, and you're low on cash, where are you staying? It takes money to stay at the Smallville Inn."

Chris winced. He'd never been good at lying off the top of his head, had he? "I'm sure I'll find …" And his stomach chose that moment to growl. Embarrassed beyond words, Chris blushed to the roots of his hair.

Mrs. Kent was putting out serious 'mother-vibes' now. "When's the last time you had something to eat?"

"It's been a while," Chris admitted.

There was a pause as she thought something over. Finally, she nodded. "Then let me fix you a late lunch. That way, you won't have to spend any of your money."

Eyes widening, Chris shook his head. "Uh, thanks for offering. Really. But…"

"No buts," she interrupted. "You saved my life. The least I can do is give you a hot meal."

Chris considered. He was hungry. The cash he had on him wouldn't last long. Plus, Mrs. Kent was only trying to be kind. If he turned her down, he might hurt her feelings or something.

"Okay," Chris said. "And thank you."

Chris followed Mrs. Kent to her truck. As he got in, he wondered if his luck was changing. Considering the situation he found himself in, he needed all the good luck he could get.

 

* * *

 

_Earlier_

  
Chris orbed into the attic in a swirl of neon blue lights.

"Chris. Hi!"

Startled, Chris turned. A very pregnant Piper Halliwell was sitting in an old rocking chair. And there was a box of clothes beside her.

"Mom!" he said, heart sinking. He'd hoped to be in and out of the manor without her seeing him. "I didn't think anyone would be up here."

"Well, I'm just going through your brother's baby clothes. I gave most of Wyatt's things away, but I think there's some stuff still up here that will fit mini-you." And she cheerfully patted her stomach.

Chris sighed. First of all, the fact that his mother was pregnant with _him_ was kinda weird. Secondly, the thought of his younger self wearing his brother's hand-me-downs brought up all kinds of issues. He reminded himself that hand-me-downs were a Halliwell family tradition. His mom wore them. Aunt Phoebe wore them. It was no big deal.

"So," Piper said, "why did you orb into the attic if you didn't think anyone would be up here?"

Feeling like a child who'd been caught doing something naughty, Chris shrugged. "Oh, I, uh, just wanted to look something up in the Book of Shadows." And he went to the podium where the family's book of magic rested.

Looking suspicious, Piper stood up with some effort. "And why are we looking things up?"

"Um, well, I kind of saw a demon at P3."

"There's a demon at my club!"

"Well, in the alley, yeah. It wasn't attacking anyone though. More like lurking in the shadows, waiting for dinner to walk by. I'm pretty sure I recognized it from the book, but I'm not sure how to vanquish it."

"Okay." Nodding, Piper walked towards her son. "We'll drop Wyatt off at Sheila's, then we'll…"

"No, Mom," Chris interrupted. "You're not going."

"Excuse me."

Trying to avoid The Look she gave him, Chris glanced down at the book. "In your condition, the last thing you need to be doing is fighting demons."

The silence lasted so long, Chris finally had to look up. He was relieved to see that she seemed to agree with him, if reluctantly.

"Okay, so I won't go. But Phoebe or Paige can…"

"There's no time." Chris turned to the entry he needed, and skimmed to the vanquishing instructions. Just as he thought. It was a really low-level demon. An easy vanquish. "There's no telling what that thing could do in the time it takes me to find one of them. It'll be faster if I do this on my own."

"No." Piper shook her head and put a protective hand over her stomach. Which upped the weird factor by a hundred. "What if you need the Power of Three to…"

"I won't," Chris interrupted. "One of those all-purpose potions Paige cooked up should do the trick. I just have to make a quick stop in the kitchen, and I'll be set."

But his mother still didn't look happy. In fact, she looked ready to argue some more.

Sighing, Chris bent down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. Sort of an apology in advance. "Back in a minute." And, with that, he orbed.

In the kitchen, Chris took a vial of potion out of the cabinet.

"Chris Halliwell!" Piper's voice echoed through the manor. Chris could hear her hurrying—as much as she could, considering—down the stairs. "Don't you dare orb out of that kitchen before I get there!"

"Sorry mom," Chris muttered, feeling a twinge of guilt for upsetting her. Reminding himself he was too old to get grounded, he orbed out of the house.

He arrived in the night-darkened alley. The creature he was hunting had its back to him. In fact, it was gazing hungrily at its prospective dinner. Further up the alley, a group of teens were leaving the side entrance of a neighboring building. They were chatting and laughing, unaware of the danger they were in.

Chris made a sweeping motion with his hand. The demon was jerked off of its feet, and sent flying across the alley. With a grunt/growl, it crashed into the brick wall, and slid down until it was lying in an unconscious heap beside the Dumpster.

Chris smiled. Being able to freeze things like his mom would be cool. But inheriting Aunt Prue's telekinetic abilities wasn't a bad deal.

As the teens turned out of the alley, still unaware, Chris approached the demon. It really was one of your uglier variety. Hairless. Gray, leathery skin. Arms too long for its body. It looked strange dressed in human clothes. But the hat and trench coat probably let it move around San Francisco without getting much notice.

Chris frowned. He hadn't had time to read the entire entry about the demon this time, but he'd read it before. There was something about it he thought he should remember. He didn't know if it was important or not. But there was something…

Finally, Chris shrugged. It didn't really matter now, did it?

Chris threw the potion at the creature. As the glass vial shattered, the demon went up in flames. In less than a minute, there was nothing left of it but ashes.

As Chris tried to wave away the smell, he couldn't help feeling a bit smug. See how easy that was? His mom was worried for nothing.

As Chris started to orb, he felt a strange energy in the air. Something harsh and grating, like nails on a chalk board.

Orbing was supposed to be effortless. You thought of where you wanted to go, and you went. You felt light and free, like you were standing still but flying all at once.

But this orb was different. It felt like he was swimming through molasses, thick and heavy. The lights he traveled as were shot through with shadows, darkness, where there should be none. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't break out of the orb…

'Maybe I gloated too soon,' he thought as panic set in.

Abruptly, the orb ended. Drained of energy, Chris fell hard to the ground. Eyes closed, he gasped for breath.

Minutes passes before he was able to open his eyes and push up onto his knees.

"Uh oh," he mumbled as he looked around. This definitely wasn't the manor. In fact, he was outside, next to a road. And it was day, when it should have been night.

And that's when he remembered what was so special about that demon. They could release an energy that opened whatever tear in the fabric between dimensions happened to be nearby. It was a handy skill to have if they needed a quick escape. But they had no control over their destination. Every reality was dotted with these tears, each one leading to a different dimension. Jump through a tear they weren't familiar with, and the demon could end up on a world covered with lava.

"Oh, crap," Chris hissed as he stood up. It wasn't hard to guess what happened. "Well, there's no molten lava, which is good. But I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore."

Shaking his head, he turned. As he caught sight of the sign at the side of the road, his eyes widened. "Then again…"

 


	3. Chapter 3

Clark's feet dragged as he walked towards the house. The house he'd grown up in. The house that equaled safety, security, comfort, warmth. And he needed all of those things right now.

He took a deep, tired breath and looked up at the darkening sky. The beautiful day had turned gray and gloomy. The pleasant breeze had turned into a sharp snap, whipping at the leaves on the trees. The clouds had moved forward to cover the sun.

It matched Clark's mood perfectly.

Dropping his head, Clark stared at the ground. It had started as such a typical day. An okay day. Then, in an instant, it all changed, and because of something most people would think was no big deal.

"Now days," Ms. Simonson began, "people barely know who their great grandparents are, let alone which of their ancestors was the first to set foot in this country. Well, I want you to follow your family tree back as far as you can, to the earliest ancestor you can manage. Ask your parents. Ask your grandparents, aunts, uncles. Then, I want you to write a report on that person. Who were they? Where were they born? What did they do for a living? Who were their spouses, their children?"

The assignment was so simple, so innocent…for anyone but Clark Kent. For Clark, it brought up all kinds of issues. Made him think about all the things he didn't know. He hadn't thought much about his biological family beyond Jor-El and his birth mother. But, today, it hit him. There was a whole part of his heritage that was a complete blank to him. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. All a bunch of blank faces. And he didn't have the comfort of being able to imagine they were out there somewhere. That maybe he'd passed one of them on the street one day without even knowing. They were just…gone.

Dejected, Clark opened the screen door and stepped into the kitchen. As he dropped his backpack on a nearby chair, he heard a noise coming from behind the kitchen island.

"Oh, hey, Mom," Clark said, and tried not to sound as gloomy as he felt. "I didn't realize you were…"

Clark stopped, eyes widening in surprise. The person who stood up from behind the counter definitely wasn't Martha Kent. In fact, Clark had never seen him before.

The guy seemed equally surprised to see Clark. For a moment he just stared, eyes wide, almost like a deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen wheeler.

"Um, hi," he finally said, his voice uncertain. After a long, awkward pause, he donned a friendly smile. But his light green eyes were cautious. "You must be Clark."

"Um, yeah," Clark said, his own green eyes equally wary. "Who are you?" _And what are you doing in my house?_ he mentally added.

"I'm Chris Halliwell. And sorry to pop up at you like that." He held up two pieces of what used to be a mug. "I was just cleaning up the mess I made back here." His eyes darted around the kitchen for a moment before they landed on the garbage can. "Uh, I'll just..."

As Chris—whoever he was—went to throw the broken mug away, Clark studied him with narrowed eyes. The guy wasn't acting suspicious. Maybe a little uncomfortable, but not like someone who'd broken into the house or anything. Still...

Clark was almost certain he'd never seen him around town before. Of course, he couldn't be a hundred percent sure, but he seemed like someone Clark would have remembered. The stranger was nearly as tall as he was, only more lanky. When Clark first saw him, he would have said they were about the same age. But now, only seconds later, he was sure the guy was a few years older. Early twenties, maybe.

After tossing the mug, Chris he took the roll of paper towels from the nearby holder. Tossing an uneasy glance in Clark's direction, he went back to the island, bending down so he disappeared from Clark's view.

Clark frowned, feeling oddly at a loss. It was just that visitors weren't all that common at the Kent farm. His parents tried to make their home a sanctuary for him. A place where he didn't have to worry about being seen doing things your average Kansas farm boy shouldn't be able to do. They'd let the town know they valued their privacy, and most people respected that.

To come home and find some strange guy in their kitchen was just...weird.

Shaking his head, Clark walked around the island. He watched Chris mop up what looked like a coffee spill for a moment, in awkward silence, before finally asking, "Do you know where my mother is?"

"Uh, yeah," Chris said, looking up briefly. "She just..."

"Clark! I thought I heard your voice."

Clark turned towards his mother, who was just walking through the door. There was a smile on her face, the one that said she was in a good mood. And Clark felt some of the tension he didn't even know was there drain away.

"Hi, mom."

"Hi, sweetheart." Coming to his side, she leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. "I see you and Chris have met."

Standing, their visitor smiled uneasily. "Yeah. He came in just as I was breaking what was probably your favorite mug." He offered her a contrite smile. "Sorry."

"Oh, that's okay," Martha assured him. "Mugs are one thing we aren't running low on around here."

"Mom..." Clark began. Then, he realized that asking 'Who is this guy?' in front of Chris might be bordering on rude. So, he switched gears to, "Where's dad?"

"He went to help out at Jed MacKyver's this morning. Jed had some deliveries to make and today was the deadline. Only, that old truck of his picked today to break down. Your dad should be back by dinner."

"Oh," Clark said, not really liking the idea of his mom being alone with this guy for who knew how long.

As Martha took a step away from him, she stumbled.

"Mom!" Instinctively, Clark grabbed her arm to steady her.

"Mrs. Kent." Frowning in concern, Chris took a step towards them. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, wincing slightly. "But I guess I twisted my ankle a little more than I thought."

"Twisted your ankle?" Clark frowned. "How? What happened?"

"Well, nothing, thanks to Chris. I would've been hit by a pick up if he hadn't...um, pulled me out of the way." And her eyes seemed to shift to the side, like they sometimes did when she wasn't being completely honest. But it happened so fast, Clark thought he'd probably imagined it.

Clark's heart thudded in his chest, and he had to remind himself that his mom was obviously okay. He tried hard not to imagine what had happened. What could've happened if someone hadn't been there to intervene. And all while he was at school, blissfully unaware.

Fighting off guilt that he knew wasn't anywhere near rational, Clark glanced towards Chris. And his feelings about the stranger in their kitchen shifted slightly. There was still some suspicion there, but it was joined by gratitude. As he realized this stranger had probably saved his mother's life, he found himself imagining what his dad would do in this situation.

Straightening up to his full height, Clark held his hand out to the older man. "Thank you," he said, voice ringing with sincerity.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother smile. It was one of those motherly, 'I'm so proud of my little boy,' smiles. And it made Clark blush to the roots of his hair. Still, his hand remained steady.

For a moment, Chris seemed startled by the gesture. Then, hesitantly, he reached out to shake Clark's hand.

Almost instantly, he gasped. His body went rigid, his eyes squeezed shut. His grip got so tight that Clark was sure that, if he'd been human, he'd have a few broken bones in his hand right about now.

Before Clark could react, Chris snatched his hand away. Looking like he was in some kind of pain, he staggered back.

"Chris!" Martha cried, taking a step forward.

"I'm okay," he gasped, even though he seemed anything but. "I just..." But he didn't seem to have the energy to finish. Or stand. He leaned against the counter, which was obviously the only thing holding him up.

A puzzled frown puckered Clark's brow. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

Head down, Chris took several deep, unsteady breaths. "I'm fine," he said. Then, shaking his head, he pressed his fingers to his temple. "Who's Jor-El?"

Shock went through Clark like a bolt of electricity. His body froze, he stopped breathing. Even his heart paused a moment before it started racing frantically in his chest.

Eyes wide, he turned to look at his mom. She looked as shocked as he felt. He could see the color drain out of her face, leaving her pale.

As oppressive silence fell over the Kent kitchen, Clark turned back to Chris. He had recovered enough to lift his head, and was now staring at Clark in wide-eyed wonder. Like he'd never seen Clark, or anything like him, before.

"What are you?" Chris whispered...seconds before his eyes rolled back in his head. And he started to fall.

Clark acted on instinct, becoming a blur as he ran to Chris's side, catching him before he could hit the ground. Lowering him to the floor, Clark glanced up at his mother, a confused child turning to his parent for answers, reassurance.

But all Martha Kent could say was, "Oh, my God."


	4. Chapter 4

"So you think this...Chris read your mind?" Jonathan asked, a look of disbelief on his face.

"I don't know, Dad." Clark sighed as he sat down at the dining room table. "One minute, we were shaking hands. The next, he's asking who Jor-El is?"

Hearing that name made Jonathan's lips press into a tight, grim line. That always happened when the subject of Clark's birth father came up. Thoughts of Jor-El didn't make Clark feel warm and fuzzy inside, either. It was hard to believe he'd once dreamed of knowing about his birth parents, and what they were like. He guessed the old saying was true. Be careful what you wish for.

"Maybe he's a telepath, like Ryan," Martha suggested. "Only, Ryan couldn't 'read' you, Clark."

"Which might mean Chris's powers are stronger than Ryan's were." Frowning, Clark folded his hands atop the table. "I just wish I knew how much he saw."

An anxious silence filled the room. If Chris had read Clark's thoughts and found out about Jor-El, how much else had he seen? Enough to put Clark in danger?

Clark's remembered the moment before Chris passed out. He'd stared at Clark like he was looking at something he'd never seen before. Something...alien. It was the way Clark feared everyone, even his friends, would look at him if they knew the truth. Like he was a freak. A mon--

"He's been out for so long," Martha said as she glanced towards the ceiling. Her brow puckered in concern. "Maybe we should take him to the hospital."

"No!" Jonathan shook his head. "Except for passing out after whatever happened when he touched Clark, you said he seemed fine. And the last thing we want is for him to wake up surrounded by strangers and start telling anyone who'll listen what he might know." Then, he let out a resigned sigh. "But, if he doesn't wake up in a few hours, we'll get him to the hospital."

Martha nodded approvingly. Then, she took a long, deep breath. "I think I should tell you...Chris has been effected by the meteors. That's where his powers must come from."

Clark frowned thoughtfully. "What makes you think that? I mean, Ryan's abilities had nothing to do with Kryptonite."

"I know, but…Well, remember how I told you Chris pulled me out of the way of a pickup truck?"

Clark nodded as a knot formed in his stomach. And his father looked the way Clark felt. He guessed they were both trying not to think of what could have happened if Chris hadn't been there.

"Well, he didn't exactly pull me out of the way. Instead, he...teleported me out of the way."

Clark's eyes flew wide with shock, both at the fact that his mom had lied to him, and at what she'd just revealed.

Teleported? Clark's thoughts were filled with memories of Alicia. How happy he'd been to think there was someone else like him, someone he could confide in. It was like a dream come true, that turned into a nightmare in the blink of an eye.

"That explains how he was able to do whatever he did," Clark said. "But what if...what if he knows? What will we do?"

"There's not much we can do," Jonathan said, not looking happy about it. "We'll try to explain why it's important he keep the secret, and hope that's enough."

Clark's heart sank. Once again, his fate was in the hands of a stranger.

* * *

_The two demons threw him to the ground._

_Chris grunted once, then stubbornly clamped his lips shut. He wasn't about to let them know how much they'd hurt him. And, under the circumstance, he was lucky. They must've been told not to damage him…on purpose. Of course, that didn't keep them from "accidentally" slamming him into walls, etcetera._

_Their task complete, the demons shimmered out, bodies blurring before vanishing into nothing._

_"Where are they?" asked a cold, emotionless voice._

_Chris winced as he glanced up. The man towered over him, an imposing figure dressed all in black. Long, blond hair fell to his shoulders in waves, and seemed to form a halo around his head._

_**Yeah, right,** Chris thought with a snort of bitter amusement. "Where's who?" he asked, feigning ignorance._

_"Don't play games with me, Chris," Wyatt warned. "You know I don't like it."_

_"Really?" Chris said in mock surprise. "I remember you loving a good game of orb and seek."_

_Wyatt wasn't amused. Eyes darkening, he clasped his hands behind his back. "Tell me where they are. Now."_

_Feeling at a disadvantage lying prone on the floor, Chris struggled to his feet. It didn't help much. Chris was tall at 6 foot 1, but Wyatt still towered over him. "You know, I don't really feel like sharing right now."_

_Wyatt took a sudden step forward, invading Chris's personal space, a classic intimidation tactic. "Tell me where they are, and I'll..."_

_"Have them executed?" Chris asked, resisting the urge to step back. "Yeah, I know the drill."_

_Wyatt's jaw popped as he clenched his teeth. He never had liked being interrupted. Obviously trying to control his temper, he turned and walked towards the massive desk that took up part of the room, a strange combination of an office and a throne room._

_"They were plotting my assassination, Chris. Is that what you want? Me dead?" Wyatt almost sounded sad._

_Chris flinched. "You know it's not. And I had nothing to do with that."_

_Wyatt turned to give him a thoughtful look. "Yet you protect them?"_

_Chris raised his chin in defiance. "I won't let you kill more witches. **Good** witches!"_

_"Who refuse to join me. Who defy me…"_

_"Who are tired of living in fear, waiting for you to hunt them down." Chris's eyes burned with anger and sorrow. "You don't have the right...!"_

_"I'm the most powerful being this world has ever known," Wyatt interrupted, his voice filled with conviction. "That gives me the right."_

_Chris's mouth snapped shut, and frustration lodged, like a tangible thing, in his chest. How could you argue with someone so certain of their own superiority?_

_"I know you created the cloaking spell that shields them. You were always good at that sort of thing." A small, almost proud smile quirked Wyatt's lips. "Tell me how to break through it, and prove you can be loyal to me again." The coldness in his eyes was replaced by earnest sincerity. "It's not too late. I can still forgive you for your betrayals. And you can rule by my side, the way it was meant to be."_

_Chris stared at him in disbelief. After all this time, all Chris had done to defy him, was it possible Wyatt still thought...?_

_Sighing, Chris shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not really interested in the empire you've been building on the bodies of innocents."_

_Wyatt's eyes narrowed in warning. "Careful."_

_"Or what?" Chris demanded. "You'll punish me? I think I've learned to handle it by now."_

_"Really?" He eyed Chris with something like contempt. Or maybe pity. "Poor Christopher. So stuck on those old, antiquated ideas of good vs. evil. So determined to fight me, to be the hero. When we both know you'll never be strong enough to defeat me."_

_Chris took a sharp breath as the words struck home. Old feelings of inferiority and self-doubt reared up, boiled to the surface. Ruthlessly, he forced them back down. Instead, he let all the anger he felt for the other man shine from his bright green eyes. "Go to hell," he said, voice barely above a ragged whisper._

_And Wyatt raised his hand, clenched it into a fist. Chris's eyes widened in panic as he suddenly found his airway cut off. Clutching at his throat, he tried, in vain, to breathe._

_"You first," Wyatt said, voice as cold as ice, "little brother."_

* * *

Feet heavy, Clark made his way up the stairs. Since there wasn't much they could do until their 'guest' woke up, everyone had gone their separate ways, relying on everyday tasks to take their minds off of their problem. Jonathan went out to work in the barn. Martha went to the kitchen to start dinner. And Clark decided to start the report that was due in a few days. No matter what crisis or weirdness he was going through, what mystery he was trying to solve, there was still homework to get done.

As he walked past the spare room, he heard a loud, strangled cry from inside. Alarmed, Clark opened the door, and found Chris writhing in the bed, head thrashing from side to side on the pillow. He was obviously caught in the throes of a nightmare.

Forgetting what happened the last time they touched, Clark hurried across the room. Grabbing Chris's shoulder, he gave it a shake.

"Chris," he said. "Chris! Wake up!"

* * *

Chris woke with a start, heart pounding in his chest. And the nightmare lingered. The memory of not being able to breathe. Of invisible hands wrapped around his throat.

He opened his eyes to find someone leaning over him. And, in that moment, he didn't see that the hair was short and brown instead of long and blond. That the eyes were concerned green instead of cold brown. All he knew was that there was a tall, imposing figure towering above him.

"No!" Chris exclaimed, waving his arm at the figure.

* * *

One minute, Clark was shaking Chris's shoulder. The next, he was sailing through the air. It was like a giant hand grabbed him, yanked him up to within inches of the ceiling, pulled him across the room, then dropped him. And it all happened in an instant.

Clark landed atop a chest of drawers, which collapsed into kindling beneath his weight. The house shook as he slammed into the floor.

For one long moment, the room was silent and still. Even though he wasn't hurt, Clark was too stunned to move. Finally, he sat up, pushing pieces of splintered wood out of the way.

Chris, fully awake now, was sitting up in bed, looking at Clark with a combination of surprise and chagrin.

"Um," he began with an apologetic smile. "Oops."


	5. Chapter 5

Chris jumped out of the bed and hurried across the room.

"Man, I am so sorry!" Taking Clark's arm, he helped him rise to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah," Clark mumbled, "I'm fine." Still a little dazed by his 'trip', he leaned one hand against the wall to help keep his balance. He might be invulnerable, but being tossed across the room by an invisible force was enough to unsettle anyone. Glancing at Chris out of the corner of his eye, he wondered just how many powers this guy had, anyway?

"You kind of startled me, I guess," Chris continued. "I _so_ didn't mean…"

"It's alright, really," Clark interrupted, "I'm fine. But I can't say the same for the furniture."

Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, the two young men studied what was left of the chest of drawers.

"Oh, man," Chris sighed as he ran a hand across the back of his neck. "I'd offer to fix it, but that's more my dad's thing."

Before Clark could tell him, again, that it was alright, Martha Kent rushed into the room.

"What happened?" she exclaimed. "I heard a crash, and…" When she caught sight of the late, great chest of drawers, her eyes grew wide. "Oh."

"We had a, uh, an accident," Clark said.

Martha gave him a look that said she expected more of an explanation than that.

"It was my fault," Chris assured her. "I was having a bad dream and, when Clark tried to wake me up, I sort of…" Suddenly, he seemed at a loss for words, as if unsure how to explain what happened. Finally, he shrugged and waved his hand in Martha's direction. Alarmed, Clark instinctively started to lunge in his direction, half afraid his mother was about to be flung across the room too. But, instead, the door simply slammed shut behind her.

Martha jumped and swung around to stare at the door. Then, as what happened dawned on her, her eyes grew even wider, and her mouth dropped open. "Oh."

Chris winced, seeming almost embarrassed. "Sorry." He glanced over his shoulder at the mess on the floor. "About that, too."

After a moment of stunned silence, Martha gave her head a shake. "Uh, w-well, I'm sure you didn't mean any harm. And that old thing has seen better days." She smiled, but it was filled with uneasiness. Walking over to her son, she put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, honey?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Clark said as he smiled down at her. Considering what she knew about him, she logically knew he wouldn't be hurt. But he supposed her motherly concern threw all that logic out the window. "Really."

"Only, you shouldn't be." Chris said. At their confused frowns, he hurried to continue. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're okay. Only"—he glanced down at the mess on the floor, then back up at Clark—"I mean, there isn't a scratch on you. You don't seem to be hurt at all. But you completely demolished what was probably a pretty solid piece of furniture. "

Clark winced. He'd kind of hoped Chris wouldn't notice he wasn't as hurt as he should be. And it hadn't occurred to him to fake an injury until…well, right now.

"I'm a lot stronger than I look," Clark said evasively, then flinched at how lame that sounded.

Not surprisingly, Chris didn't look at all convinced.

"Well, dinner's almost ready," Martha said, probably in an attempt to change the subject. "It'll be another fifteen minutes or so. Why don't you two, uh…" She waved her hand helplessly, obviously searching for something to tell them to do.

"We'll clean this stuff up, Mom,"

"Good!" She gave Clark a look of gratitude. "You two clean up the mess, and I'll just…go." After another moment of hesitation, she turned and walked out the door.

An uneasy quiet filled the room as both occupants tried to think of something to say.

"You sure you're okay?" Chris finally asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little shaken up, that's all." Clark's smile was cautious. "That's some power you've got there."

Chris shrugged. "It comes in handy. Although I don't use it very often." He gave Clark a thoughtful look. "And I'm wondering why you and your mom aren't more surprised by all of this. Most people who saw me do what you saw me do…"

"You live in Smallville long enough, you realize anything is possible. I've met a lot of people who were given unusual powers by the meteors. Although, you seem to have more than most."

"Uh, right," Chris muttered. "The meteors." Avoiding Clark's eyes, he looked down at the floor. "I think we're going to need a box or something to put all this stuff in."

Clark frowned. It didn't take a genius to realize Chris was hiding something. Clark couldn't help wondering what it was. And there was one important question that had yet to be answered.

How much did Chris now know about Clark?

* * *

As Chris sliced into an expertly cooked steak, he glanced around the dining room table. The entire Kent family was there, including Jonathan Kent, who Chris had met less than half an hour ago. And Chris didn't miss the slightly suspicious glances the man kept throwing his way.

In fact, the tension at the table was hard to miss. It seemed like the Kents were trying to act the way they normally did at the dinner table, chatting about the events of their day. But, even when they weren't looking at him, Chris felt like he was the center of their attention.

"This is great, Mrs. Kent," he said, indicating his dinner. In fact, it was almost as good as his mom's, and Piper Halliwell was a trained chef.

"Thank you, Chris," Martha said. "I'm glad you like it. And I'm glad you're feeling better, after what happened earlier."

It was like this was the queue everyone was waiting for. As one, they turned to stare at their guest.

"Exactly what did happen earlier?" Clark asked. "I mean, it was more than a little unusual. And, before you passed out, you said something. Something you couldn't have known about unless…"

Chris sighed. He'd known this was going to come up, and had been wondering how he would explain ever since he woke up. Or if he should explain at all. Or how much.

As he ate, he'd given it a lot of thought. If what he suspected was true, he figured there were few people in Smallville who would understand—eventually—the truth about him better than this family. Besides, under the circumstances, he needed all the help he could get.

"Nothing like this has ever happened to me before," Chris began as he set down his knife and fork. "Premonitions are more my aunt Pheobe's department."

"Premonitions?" Martha asked.

"Yeah. When she touches a person or an object, she can see things. Things that are going to happen, or have already happened. And that's seems to be what happened when I touched Clark."

Jonathan Kent looked skeptical. And worried. "Exactly what did you see?" he asked.

Chris shrugged. "It's hard to describe. I saw stars. And…falling out of the sky?" Chris's frowned. That wasn't exactly right, but it was the best way to describe it. "And I heard that name, which I knew was a name, even though it's not like any name I've ever heard before." He glanced at Clark. "And, considering it felt like a sledgehammer to the back of my skull, I'd say you have pretty strong, and not so happy, feelings about whoever this Jor-El is."

Uneasy glances passed between the Kents, and the tension at the table went up a notch.

"There was other stuff," Chris continued. "A lot of it flashed by too fast for me to really see. But there was this green rock, which just felt…bad, like I didn't want to get near it. And I saw…well, I know it sounds crazy, but it looked like…well, a spaceship."

Martha gasped in distress, one hand covering her mouth. Jonathan glared at Chris, his mouth set in a grim line; but behind his anger was fear. And Clark looked nauseous. In fact, he looked like he was about to take a turn at passing out.

"M-maybe it was just a toy or something," the youngest Kent began. "You said this stuff was flashing by really fast, so maybe…"

"Sorry," Chris interrupted apologetically. "But I know it was real. I _felt_ it. Then, when I looked at you…It wasn't like you _looked_ different or anything. I just _knew_ you were." He studied Clark with piercing, green eyes. "I'm guessing you're not from around here, are you?"

He couldn't have stunned the Kents more if he'd taken out a baseball bat and started to smash their dining room to pieces. And Chris was stunned himself, to tell the truth. With all the things he'd seen, all the beings he'd met, he'd never really given aliens a serious thought. Well, no more than any guy who watched sci-fi movies or read comic books. But, once he thought about it for a second, he figured, _Why not? My father's an angel. My mom's a witch. I traveled from the future to stop my brother from becoming a tyrant who rules through fear and intimidation, and I'm now stuck in the wrong dimension. Aliens aren't much stranger than that._

"Look," Chris said, before their stunned silence could become full-blown panic. "I'm guessing you think me knowing what I know is a bad thing. But, really, you don't have to worry." He offered them a small, reassuring smile. "Because I'm not from around here either."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: For Charmed fans, this story takes place after "SpinCity". And I know that, after that episode, Piper moved to the MagicSchool where she would be safe until the baby was born. But let's say that, in this story, she came home for a visit.

Paige Matthews watched her sister pace the foyer with worried eyes. Piper was a bundle of anxiety in motion, her body rigid with tension. Which could _not_ be good for the baby.

"Piper, sweetie." Paige stood up from the steps and took a cautious step towards her big sister. "Wouldn't you like to sit down? You know, you should really try to…"

"Don't say relax!" Piper snapped, pausing to glare at her younger sister. "Don't tell me to relax! Relaxed is the last thing I'm going to be right now!"

When she waved her hand in exasperation, Paige took a quick step back, then let out a sigh of relief when nothing in the immediate vicinity blew up. That kind of thing tended to happen when Piper was upset.

"Okay, okay." Paige held up her hands in supplication. "I won't tell you to relax. But maybe you could sit down for just a minute…"

Piper ignored her and started to pace again, one hand resting on her protruding stomach.

Sighing, Paige sat back down on the steps. It wasn't that she could blame Piper for her worry. Paige was worried herself. After all, her nephew—after going off to fight a demon on his own, for which she'd kick his ass later—had vanished.

It wasn't unusual for Chris to go off on his own, although he didn't do it as much now as he had before they knew who he really was. But this time was different. This time, he'd gone off to vanquish a demon, without "back-up". And he knew Piper knew where he was going, and had been both angry and worried when he orbed out on her. Under those circumstances, he would have wanted to get back to the Manor as soon as possible, partly to gloat over how easy vanquishing the demon had been, partly to ease his mother's mind.

Only, he'd been gone for hours now. He wasn't at the club. He wasn't at the Golden Gate Bridge, his favorite thinking spot. Leo couldn't find or sense him. And he hadn't answered any of their 'calls'.

"What if that demon was stronger than he thought it was going to be?" Piper suddenly said, obviously saying what she'd been thinking the past few hours. "Or what if he got another lead on who's after Wyatt, and he went off to follow it without telling us first?"

"Calm down, Piper. Chris wouldn't do that."

Piper paused to give her a long, disbelieving look.

"Okay, he _would_ do that," Paige reluctantly admitted. "But I don't think that's what he did this time. Not when he knows how worried you would be."

"Which just means there are a million other things that could have happened to him."

Since she couldn't think of an argument against that one, Paige remained silent.

"I'm going up to check on Wyatt," Piper suddenly said, abruptly starting for the stairs.

Standing, Paige stepped out of the way. "That's a good idea, honey. And why don't you try to get some rest, huh?"

Again, Piper ignored her. As Paige watched Piper slowly climbed the stairs, Paige's heart went out to her. She might not be a mother, but she understood what her sister was doing. With one child missing, she felt the urge to hold the other closer.

Sighing, Paige went into the living room. She found Pheobe still sitting on the sofa, holding a scrying crystal over a map. The map of San Francisco had been abandoned long ago when they could find no sign of Chris in the city. Now, they'd moved up to a map of the world.

Paige watched as the crystal swayed aimlessly on the end of a black cord. "Still nothing?" she asked, disappointment in her voice.

"Still nothing," Pheobe dejectedly agreed. She lowered the crystal onto the coffee table, then shook her obviously tired hand. "Of course, that could be because I had to modify the spell when the crystal kept homing in on Baby Chris. So maybe that's keeping me from finding Big Chris."

"Ya think?" Paige asked hopefully.

"Anything's possible," Pheobe said. But the optimism in her voice sounded forced. "He could be in the Underworld, or a magical blind spot where a scrying crystal can't detect him. That, or he's not on this plane of existence anymore."

"Right," Paige nodded. She noticed Pheobe didn't mention the other option that might keep them from finding Chris. And she wasn't going to mention it either. "And I was thinking about something. When you tried to call him once, didn't he sort of put you on metaphysical mute?"

"Well, that was because I was kind of bugging him. Plus, I admit I wasn't calling him for anything really urgent." A mildly angry frown creased Pheobe's brow. "And that better not be what he's doing this time, or else he's _so_ grounded!"

Paige smiled slightly at the idea of grounding 22 year-old Chris. After hours of worry, the smile felt good.

"We'll find him," Pheobe said, her voice strong and determined. Picking up the crystal, she started to scry again.

Nodding, Paige sat down on the sofa next to her. She took a deep breath to try to loosen up the knot that had formed in her chest.

It was hard to believe they'd only known Chris was a Halliwell for a few months. In such a short time, and despite a few rough patches, he just seemed to…fit. At first, it was hard for Paige to believe that this grown man (who was only a few years younger than her and, at the same time, hadn't technically even been born yet) was her nephew. Now, it just seemed normal.

Some might think Chris got along better with his aunt Pheobe. But he and Paige 'got along' in their own special way. They bickered. They argued. They disagreed. In fact, he'd become like the slightly annoying younger brother she'd never had. And her day just didn't feel complete unless she and Chris had snarked at each other at least once.

And, now, he was missing.

Elbows on her knees, hands fisted beneath her chin, Paige watched the scrying crystal, mentally urging it to settle somewhere, to give them some clue. And she tried not to think of all the things that could have happened to the newest member of their family.


	7. Chapter 7

"So, you're telling us you're from…another _dimension_?" Jonathan Kent demanded, expressing the disbelief that was being felt by the rest of his family.

"I know how crazy it sounds," Chris said, leaning forward in his chair. "Believe me. But I think you all know, better than most, that truth can be stranger than fiction." And he threw a meaningful glance in Clark's direction.

Clark tried not to squirm in his chair. He still wasn't comfortable with the fact that Chris knew what he was. But, more than that, he was surprised that the other guy seemed to take the whole thing in stride, like meeting someone from another planet was no big deal.

Then again, he'd just told them he was from another dimension with a straight face. Which either meant he deserved his own TV series, or he thought he was telling the truth.

A long silence filled the room. Jonathan stood near the door, arms folded, shoulders stiff, lips pressed into a stubborn line. Clark could almost see the struggle going on in his dad's mind, as he tried to decide whether to believe Chris or not.

Taking a seat on the living room sofa next to his mom (who looked as shell-shocked as Clark felt), Clark glanced at their guest. After telling his incredible—and nearly unbelievable—story, Chris was now lounging comfortably in his chair, looking completely relaxed. He seemed content to wait for their reaction to what he'd just told them.

Since no-one was actually eating the dinner Martha prepared (except Chris) they'd all gone into the living room, where the young man told his story. He claimed that, after leaving the club his mother owned in San Francisco, he tried to teleport—or 'orb', as he called it—home. He knew something was wrong almost immediately, because the orb felt different, almost painful, and lasted much longer than usual. When he came out of the orb, he had proof. Not only was it day when it should have been night, he was half a country away from where he meant to be.

Finally, Jonathan sighed. His shoulders relaxed, and he looked almost reluctantly towards Chris. "I think I believe you."

"Uh, yeah," Clark said, feeling almost guilty. "I think I do, too."

Martha offered Chris a weak, but encouraging, smile. "So do I."

"Which probably means we're all as crazy as he is," Jonathan informed his family.

It was like the room had been holding its breath in anticipation, and was finally able to let it out. Rather than being insulted by what Jonathan said, Chris smiled with amusement…and relief. So maybe he hadn't been as comfortable and relaxed as he'd seemed.

"I'm a lot of things," he said. "But I'm not crazy. Just…lost, I guess."

"Well, I don't know how your power works," Jonathan said, looking less than comfortable with the subject. From the look on his face, he was trying to keep an open-mind, but it was obviously a struggle for him. In fact, he looked like he'd bitten into something sour, and couldn't get the taste out of his mouth. "The way you described it, it sounds like, uh, orbing as far you did is unusual. But isn't it possible you just took a wrong turn somehow? I mean, another dimension…"

"Aiming for a house in San Francisco and landing in Kansas is a pretty big wrong turn," Chris said with a slight smile. "Still, I did want to check things out before completely jumping to the 'other dimension' conclusion. So, the first pay 'phone I got to, I tried to call my family. And…" Here he paused, and Clark saw a shiver race through his body. "My aunt, Prue, answered the phone."

"I'm guessing that's unusual," Clark said.

"Yeah. Especially since, in my reality, Aunt Prue died a few years before I was born." This time, his shiver was more pronounced. "I only knew her through pictures and stories, and a couple of home movies. So talking to an alive and well version of her was…interesting."

Clark could relate. After years of thinking his biological father was dead—or just didn't want him—communicating with his birth father had been an experience. Like talking to a ghost. Or having one walk over your grave.

"Wait a minute," Martha said, as if something had just occurred to her. "You said you've never been in Kansas before. Which probably means you _didn't_ get your powers from the meteor rocks. Which would definitely mean"—she hit Chris with an accusatory frown—"you lied to me."

Chris seemed to shrink a little under her gaze, like someone used to being scolded. Clark was just glad he wasn't the one his mom was frowning at.

"I didn't exactly lie," Chris began, looking contrite. "But, since you seemed to think my powers came from these meteor rock things, I decided to let you go on thinking it." When Martha's frown became more intense, he flinched. "Sorry. But it seemed easier than trying to explain the truth."

Clark felt tension he hadn't even known he was feeling drain away. Bringing up the meteors always did that to him. Intellectually, he knew the damage they caused wasn't his fault. But, because they arrived at the same time he did, he couldn't help feeling some guilt. Not just about the people who died the day of the meteor shower, but about those who'd ended up with special abilities because of them. He'd never met anyone who'd had a great life because of those powers. In fact, most of them were pretty screwed up.

Now, here was someone whose powers had nothing to do with the meteors. And, in a strange way, it was kind of a relief.

"So," Jonathan began, "what _is_ the truth about your powers?"

"Well, they sort of run in the family," Chris said. "My parents, my brother, my aunts and I all have them. As far as anyone knows, it all started with my great, great, however-many-more greats, grandmother, Melinda. Unfortunately, she developed her powers at a time when anyone who could do what she could do was bound to be accused of being a witch, and probably burned at the stake. Which she was." He gave Martha an apologetic glance. "So you can see why the Halliwell family motto has kind of become, 'Never tell strangers about your powers.'"

Martha and Jonathan nodded understandingly. If anyone knew about keeping family secrets, it was the Kents.

For his part, a nice little shiver raced down Clark's spine. He doubted anyone would burn an alien at the stake in this day and age, not that it would hurt him if they did. No, they'd be more likely to go for an examination table in a nice, sterile lab in a secret location somewhere. And, if they had some Kryptonite, their scalpels could do plenty of damage.

"There has to be a way home," Chris said suddenly. He was staring at some point in the corner, and almost seemed to be talking to himself. "If there was a way for me to get here, there has to be a way for me to get back. I just have to find it."

"And what do you intend to do until then," Martha asked kindly, any anger she felt towards Chris long gone. You have no place to stay, very little money, no family to turn to."

"It won't be a problem." Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he looked down at the floor. "I've been in worse spots than this, and I've always managed to work something out."

Martha frowned disapprovingly. Then, without saying another word, she simply turned to stare at her husband.

Jonathan caught her look, and seemed to know exactly what it meant. For a moment, it seemed like he might argue. He even opened his mouth and started to speak. But, instead, he let out a resigned sigh. Maybe he was remembering that Chris had saved his wife's life. Or that Chris knew Clark's secrets, and it would probably be better to keep him close, where they could keep an eye on him. Or maybe he was thinking, 'What if it were Clark in Chris's place? Would there be anyone there to help him?' But, for whatever reason, he turned to Chris and said, "You can stay here, in the guest room. But I expect you to pull your weight around here by helping with chores." His firm tone brooked no argument.

"Of course," Chris said with a grateful smile. "And thank you."

"You're welcome," Jonathan said, his gruff voice making it clear he wasn't one hundred percent happy with the arrangements. "Now, let's go finish our dinner. I'm starving."


	8. Chapter 8

Two hours after going to bed, Clark was still wide awake.

Hands folded behind his head, he watched moonlight and shadows play across the ceiling. His mind was too active, too busy thinking, to let him rest.

What must it to be able to trace your ancestry back for generations? To know that your great, great, however-many-more greats, grandmother's name was Melinda?

Too bad Chris wasn't in Ms. Simonson's class, Clark thought with a bitter smile. He could complete that assignment with no problem.

Clark frowned. He wondered when Chris heard the story about his ancestor being burned at the stake as a witch. Clark had a pretty good idea what would happen to him if people knew what he was. And he'd seen enough of movies where benevolent aliens were imprisoned, tortured, and experimented on to give him nightmares. But Chris knew, for a fact, that a member of his family was killed for having powers like his. Whether it happened a few hundred years ago or not, that had to play with a guy's head.

Only, Chris didn't seem nearly as, well, paranoid as Clark sometimes was. Clark always felt uneasy talking about his own powers, even with his parents. And so did most of the other people he'd met with special abilities. Jeremy, Alicia, Ryan. They all talked about their powers like they were dirty little secrets, and painful ones at that. But Chris talked about his powers so openly and freely.

Maybe it was because, growing up, Chris wasn't the only one. Since everyone in his family had special abilities, being able to do the things he could do didn't make him a freak. It made him…normal.

Clark's heart clenched in his chest. What must that be like? To have your abilities, to be different from most people, but still feel normal?

Sighing, Clark turned over and closed his eyes, determined to get some sleep. But, just as he relaxed enough to drift off, he heard a noise.

Instantly alert, Clark sat up in bed. There was someone was downstairs.

* * *

All was quiet and still in the darkened Kent kitchen. Until a column of sparkling blue lights pushed the shadows away.

Solidifying into human form, Chris staggered into the counter. Bending over, he panted, dragging deep gulps of air into his tired lungs. Beads of sweat ran down his face, and his legs barely seemed steady enough to hold him up.

Chris was still trying to catch his breath when the kitchen light came on. Startled, he looked up to see Clark standing in the doorway, tying the belt of a blue, terry cloth robe.

"I thought I heard someone down here," Clark began. Then, he took a good look at Chris. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he gasped. His hand trembled as he wiped the moisture from his brow. "Mostly."

With a worried frown, Clark came further into the kitchen. "What happened?"

"Nothing, really. I just orbed to and back from the spot where I 'arrived'. I guess it took more out of me than I expected." Never fond of looking weak in front of others, Chris forced himself to stand straight, and took what he hoped looked like a confident step away from the counter.

His legs collapsed almost immediately.

In an instant, Clark was across the room, grabbing hold of Chris's arm to keep him upright. He moved so fast that, for a second, Chris would swear he was nothing but a blur.

Maybe it was an alien thing.

"Take it easy," Clark said. Guiding him across the room, he helped him into a chair at the kitchen table. "I guess you aren't used to teleporting that far, huh?"

Chris didn't comment. The last year or so, playing his cards close to the vest, and letting people jump to their own conclusions, had become a habit. Which was why he hadn't told the Kents everything. They might have a son who was from another planet, but even they might have trouble with talk of demons, witches, magic, time travel. What he'd told them was hard enough for them to swallow. He didn't want to push his luck.

Truth was that, back home, Chris could've teleported from here all the way to San Francisco without breaking a sweat. But here, in this dimension, it seemed to take more of an effort. Orbing Martha Kent out of the street hadn't been a problem. But orbing all the way to the town sign left him feeling drained, like he'd run the whole way. And getting back to the farm had taken even more out of him.

It seemed that magic worked differently here, and his powers were being effected in ways that made no sense. Orbing was harder, but his telekinetic ability worked just fine. And he'd had a premonition, which wasn't one of his powers. Yeah, it was in his genes or whatever, so maybe one of his kids would have it or something. The point was, _he_ shouldn't have it.

"Why'd you go back there?" Clark asked as he took a seat. Then, as if he just realized, "You were trying to get home."

Chris nodded. "I figure I came through a kind of doorway, and that it might still be there. If I can figure out how to open it, I should be able to go back through, right?"

Clark looked doubtful. And his, "I guess you could be right," was less than convincing.

Chris almost laughed out loud. Something told him Clark Kent was a terrible liar.

But Chris knew the doorway was there. Vorlek demons couldn't create them out of thin air. They opened those that already existed. Unfortunately, unless you were a vorlek, opening one of those doorways wasn't easy. None of the spells Chris tried did the trick. And, with the way magic worked in this dimension, he had no clue what would.

Chris was startled by a sudden thought. _Does this dimension even **have** demons? Or an Underworld? Or Elders? Or…_

"So," Clark said, interrupting Chris's chaotic thought. "Can I get you anything?"

"Uh, actually, I didn't orb straight to the guest room because I wanted to grab a glass of water."

"Let me get it." Standing, Clark went over to the sink.

Slinking down in his seat, Chris watched Clark with tired, half-lidded eyes. Clark definitely didn't fit his image of what an alien would be like. No pointy ears, no forehead ridges, no blue tinted skin. Nope, Clark just looked like a guy. A tall guy who worked out, and looked more mature than other guys his age, but still just a guy.

As Clark returned to the table, he found Chris staring at him. "What?" he asked as he handed over the glass.

Chris took a quick sip of water before he said, "So, you're from another planet, huh? What's that like?"

Sighing, Clark re-took his seat. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Well, it's not like I was raised on another planet, came to Earth, and had to adjust to a different culture. I was pretty young when I, uh, got here, and I don't really remember anything before. And even though I knew I was adopted, and that I could do things most people couldn't, my parents didn't tell me I wasn't…"

"Of this Earth?" Chris interrupted with a mischievous grin.

Clark rolled his eyes, but a slight smile curved his lips. "Yeah. I didn't know about that until a few years ago. In some ways, it was nice knowing there was a reason I was so different. But it also made my life more complicated than I ever wanted it to be."

Chris nodded. He knew all about complicated lives. In his future, he was used to being looked at with suspicion, anger, even fear. Not because of anything he'd done, but because he was Wyatt Halliwell's brother. To some, it didn't matter how much good Chris did, that he wasn't the one who'd killed their sister, or imprisoned their father, or driven them from their home. He was related to the man terrorizing them, had the same blood running through his veins. And, if one brother could turn, why not the other, right?

Sometimes, when Chris was trying to help one of the covens rebelling against Wyatt's rule, he first had to prove he could be trusted. That he wasn't a spy for his brother who would turn on them at the drop of a hat. It could be frustrating.

"I sometimes think being 'normal' would be easier," Chris admitted. "But I couldn't have done the things I've done, helped the people I've helped, without my powers."

"Yeah," Clark said, his gaze distant, his frown thoughtful. "I guess so."

Watching the younger man, Chris wondered what he was thinking. Probably about his own powers.

Chris wondered what they were. He wished that premonition had been clearer. Thanks to the flashes, he knew Clark had abilities humans didn't have. He just wasn't sure what they were. He was pretty sure Clark was stronger than most people, and faster. What else could he do?

Chris supposed he could ask, but it seemed rude somehow. After all, a guy didn't just walk up to a fellow witch and say, "So, what can you do?" Well, not unless it was a combat situation, and you needed to know what the others could do so you could plan a strategy that would, hopefully, keep everyone alive. Otherwise, they told you if they wanted to tell you and, if not, you just didn't know.

"I better get back to bed," Clark suddenly said. Yawning, he stood up. "I have school tomorrow."

"Well, I don't have school tomorrow, thank God, but I could sleep." Chris pushed himself to his feet. Satisfied that his legs were more steady, he followed Clark to the door.

"Actually, if you're going to help dad around the farm tomorrow, you can use all the rest you can get."

Chris frowned. "Uh, yeah, about that. I've never worked on a farm before. So, when your dad said he expected me to do 'chores', what did he mean?"

Pausing, Clark opened his mouth as if to explain. But, instead, he simply grinned. "You'll see."

And, suddenly, Chris Halliwell felt more than a little worried.


	9. Chapter 9

Remembering what happened the last time he tried to wake up their houseguest, Clark approached with caution. Chris lay on his stomach, one arm flung over the side of the bed, half of his face smushed against the pillow.

"Chris," he half-whispered. "It's time to get up."

Chris stirred a little, groaned, then settled back down again.

"Hey, Chris," Clark said a little louder. "Up and at 'em."

Chris stirred a little more and mumbled, "Five more min's, Mom."

Clark grinned and moved a little closer. "Chris!" he exclaimed. "Wake up!"

Chris shot up so suddenly, Clark took a quick, startled step backwards.

"I'm up," Chris said groggily. He turned over onto his side and squinted at Clark. "I'm up. You didn't have to yell."

"Uh, right." Clark rolled his eyes. Then, relieved he wasn't flying across the room again, he let out a grateful sigh. "Well, breakfast is almost ready. So, if you want to eat, you better come down."

"Okay, okay." Chris yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Give me five minutes and I'm there." Lowering his hand, he looked around the room. When his eyes fell on the window, they opened a little wider. "Hey, the sun's up. I was expecting your dad to yank me out of bed before the crack of dawn."

"Yeah, well, he decided to take easy on you the first day. But don't worry. He'll work you extra hard to make up for lost time."

Chris gave him a long, wary look. "You know, you're liking the idea of me doing manual labor way too much. Why is that?"

Clark just grinned and shrugged, even as he thought about the question. He wasn't usually this open with people he'd just met. Not enough to joke around with, anyway. But Chris was different. Clark's secrets—the big ones—were already out in the open. Getting to know someone new without having so much to hide was a relief. Plus, he liked the guy.

Mumbling something under his breath about morning people, Chris sat up and started to toss the blankets aside. Then, pausing, he gave Clark a look. "Can a guy get a little privacy, here?"

"Sure." Clark rolled his eyes again and walked out the door. As he jogged down the stairs, he smiled. Having someone close to his own age around might be kind of fun.

For breakfast, Martha made pancakes. Lots and lots of pancakes. And, seeing how much Clark ate all on his own, Chris could see why.

He wasn't surprised the Kents ate breakfast together. But it was something Chris hadn't had in a long time. At home—in the present, anyway—family breakfasts were rare. Everyone was busy getting ready, hurrying out the door. But, in the future, Piper had insisted on family breakfasts. It was her way of making his and Wyatt's lives more normal…and making up for Leo's frequent absences. Still, he remembered those breakfasts fondly. Sometimes, it was just him, Mom and Wyatt. Others, Aunt Paige and Aunt Phoebe were there, too, along with the cousins. And Grandpa even dropped by sometimes.

Chris smiled at the memories. But the smile slowly faded. He wondered if Wyatt (the innocent, toddler version of the present, not the adult, power-hungry version of the future) was okay. If they were all okay. Mom and Dad. Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige. He'd been gone less than twenty-four hours, but a lot could happen to the Charmed Ones in that time. And, in her current condition, Mom wasn't exactly in top fighting form. What if something big happened? What if something really powerful attacked the Manor, and he wasn't there to help?

What if he couldn't find a way back?

Shaking his head, Chris closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He couldn't think about this. Not now. Worrying about home, missing his family, would just distract him. He had to stay calm, keep a clear head. _Believe_ he could get back home.

"…okay, Chris?"

Hearing his name, Chris looked up to find Martha watching him expectantly. He realized she'd asked him a question, and he hadn't heard a word.

"Excuse me."

"I was saying we should go through Clark's and Jonathan's old things and put together a temporary wardrobe for you."

Trying not to look appalled, Chris glanced from Clark to his father, and back again. There was a lot of flannel there. Which worked for them, sure. But it wasn't really Chris's style.

_You don't **have** a style,_ he could almost hear Aunt Paige say, which made him smile again.

"Uh, that's okay. I've got a little money on me, which seems to be the same here as back home. All I need's a thrift store, and I'm good."

Martha gave it some thought. "Okay, there's one in town. We'll go this afternoon." She turned to Clark. "Isn't it time for you to be leaving for school?"

"Oh, yeah," Clark said. Stuffing another forkful of pancakes in his mouth, he stood up. Grabbing a backpack off the floor, he slung it over his back. "See you guys later," he called as he hurried out the door.

"Come on, Chris," Jonathan said. Standing, he smiled. "It's time for you and me to get to work."

Silently, Chris groaned. As he imagined a day of grueling physical labor, he wished there was an easier way to earn his keep. Like fighting a horde of hungry swarm demons or something.

"So, who is this mystery guest of yours?" Pete asked as he sat down at the lunch table.

"Who, Chris?" Clark stalled. Nervously, he cleared his throat. "He, uh, his mom and my mom are old friends."

"And he just…showed up on your doorstep last night?" Chloe asked. Shaking her head, she sat down next to Pete. "Weird."

"I guess." Clark shrugged and tried to avoid their eyes. "I don't really think he planned the trip. It just sort of…happened."

"He do this often?" Chloe asked as she pealed the lid off a container of yogurt. "You know, travel halfway across the country to pop in on unsuspecting old friends of his mother's?"

"I wouldn't know. I just met him yesterday." And Clark tried not to squirm in his seat. He hated lying to his friends. Even if the lies were harmless.

"Cool," Pete smiled. "And, if another total stranger drops by for a visit, we'll have four for a decent game of basketball. So, how long's he gonna be around?"

"Until he decides to leave, I guess. He's sort of playing it by ear."

"Hmmm, sounds interesting." Chloe's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "From what you've told us so far, we can conclude he's spontaneous, adventurous, a risk taker…"

Clark gave her a surprised look. "How can you conclude all that from what I told you?"

"Well, the guy hops in his car…"

"He doesn't have a car," popped out of Clark's mouth.

"So, he hops on a plane or a bus. Or maybe he even hitchhikes." The last possibility really seemed to excite her for some reason. It probably appealed to her own adventurous nature. "And he travels all the way from California to Kansas, with no guarantee that he'd have a place to stay when he got here. Sounds like a risk-taker to me."

Clark frowned thoughtfully. He didn't know whether Chris was a risk-taker or not, but he sure was cool under pressure. He accepted the truth about Clark without batting an eye. And he was handling his situation way better than most people would. He was _in the wrong dimension_ , cut off from his friends, his family, his home. Why he wasn't freaking out was anyone's guess.

Although Clark had already realized Chris was good at hiding his true feelings. In fact, maybe that was what Chris's nightmare was about. His fear and anxiety over being stuck in the wrong reality.

"So, what's he like?" Pete asked.

"Well, like I said, I don't know him that well. But, so far, he seems pretty cool."

Doing chores around the farm wasn't as hard as Chris thought it would be. In fact, considering the type of stuff he usually did, doing stuff that was so mundane was a nice change.

That afternoon, Martha took him to the local version of the Salvation Army. It wasn't as big as the ones Chris went to in San Francisco. The little shop was tucked between a sporting goods store and an antique shop.

It had been a while since a mother—his or anyone else's—had taken Chris shopping for clothes. On the one hand, it was a little embarrassing. On the other, it filled him with nostalgia. His mom took him to buy a new outfit for his fourteenth birthday party. It was the last shopping trip they took together before Piper…

Well, anyway, it took less than an hour for him to pick out a few pairs of jeans, and some decent shirts.

"Chris," Martha said as they approached the cash register. "Wouldn't you like to spend a little more time picking things out. I mean, there's no hurry."

"No, I'm done. I'm not really big on picking out clothes." Quick and painless. That's how he liked his shopping trips to be.

Arms full of packages, they left the thrift store and started towards the truck. When one of his shopping bags started to slip, Chris looked down to grab. And he saw something lying on the sidewalk, glistening in the sun.

"Whoa, what's this?" Chris bent down to pick it up. It was a silver necklace with a heart-shaped pendent. And the chain was broken.

"What is it?" Martha came to stand next to him. "Oh, that's pretty. Whoever lost it must be frantic." As she reached for the pendent, her hand brushed against Chris's.

Suddenly, a light flashed through his mind, like an ice pick slashing through his brain. Groaning, he dropped the bags and grabbed his head, squeezing his eyes shut because it felt like they were being stabbed with needles. And emotions tore through his brain like cold, razor-sharp explosions. Worry, desperation, helplessness. And....

"Chris!" Martha grabbed his arm. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Fear," Chris gasped. As the pain and emotions faded, he forced his eyes open, stared down at the necklace clutched in his hand. "Whoever owns this necklace is terrified." Expression grim, he looked up at Martha. "Right _now_."


	10. Chapter 10

"Chris!" Martha exclaimed, voice frantic. Her fingers dug into his arm. "Tell me what's wrong!"

Chris wanted to answer. He really did. Only he was hit by a wave of emotions almost as strong as before.

It wasn't a premonition exactly. He didn't _see_ anything. But he felt plenty. It was like empathy. But, instead of getting the emotions directly from a person, he was getting them from something that belonged to them.

For a moment, Chris was tempted to drop the necklace, to make the pain stop. But he needed it if he wanted to find this frightened woman. She was nearby. He could feel it. And, if he could pull himself together, maybe he could follow her fear…

A familiar figure stood on the sidewalk, her bright red hair glowing in the sunlight.

Lex Luthor eased his foot off the gas pedal. Martha Kent wasn't alone. She was holding the arm of a tall young man with dark hair. At first, Lex thought it was Clark. Then, he realized this young man was more slender, less tanned.

And he also seemed to be in pain.

Frowning, Lex pulled over, his sports car purring as it glided up to the curb. Getting out, he hurried around the hood.

"Mrs. Kent?" he said as he approached the pair.

Startled, Martha swung around to face him. Her eyes were wide with anxiety, huge in her ghost-pale face.

"Lex!" she exclaimed. "I don't know what's wrong. He just…" Without finishing, she turned back to the young man. "Chris!"

The young man—Chris—didn't answer. Or more like couldn't. His face was frozen in a grimace of pain. The palm of his left hand was pressed to his eye, his fingers digging into his skull.

"What's happening?" Lex stepped closer, and had to step around the shopping bags someone had dropped on the pavement. "Should I call someone?"

"I don't know! I just don't…" She shook her head jerkily in an uncharacteristic display of indecisiveness. "If I knew what was wrong…"

Nodding at nothing in particular, Lex reached into his coat and pulled out his cell phone. Flipping it open, he started to dial 911.

Suddenly, Chris stood erect. His eyes opened to reveal that they were a clear, bright green. All traces of pain disappeared from his face, replaced by…determination.

"Chris?" Martha still sounded concerned. "Are you okay?"

But the young man still didn't answer. Eyes alert, he turned his head from side to side, almost as if he were looking for something. He studied every person on the street, glanced at every car, eyed every building. Finally, his gaze focused on the antique shop nearby. "There," he said, his voice soft but certain. Turning, he walked towards the store.

Martha looked confused. But, after a moment's hesitation, she gave Lex an apologetic look and trailed behind Chris.

Lex had watched the entire scene with mild curiosity. As they walked away, he ran the strange behavior through his mind again and again, unable to begin to guess what it meant. And his curiosity grew.

Putting the phone back inside his coat, he followed them inside.

The scene inside the antique shop was chaos. And, at the center of the storm, was one hysterical woman.

"My daughter!" she sobbed. "We have to find Tracy!"

Four other people—employees and customers—were trying to calm her down with little success. She walked in circles, like someone desperate to do something, but unsure what. Her eyes were so wide with panic, the whites were showing. Her arms flailed, and almost struck those around her several times. And she was clutching a doll in one desperate hand.

"Oh, my god," Martha gasped. She turned to face an elegant, middle-aged woman. "Eleanor? What's going on?"

Seeming almost relieved to be pulled away from the drama, Eleanor walked towards them. When she spotted Lex, she paused, eyes widening as—no doubt—all the stories she'd heard about his family ran through her head. As she stared, Lex—used to this kind of attention—just smiled pleasantly until she dismissed him, with a delicate sniff, and turned towards Martha.

"It's just terrible," she began. "This woman came in to pick up an order. And it took us a little longer to get things sorted out than she probably expected." Eleanor looked a little guilty about this fact. "Then, when she went back to her car, her little girl was gone."

"Oh, no. That's awful." Martha's brow crinkling sympathetically. "You called the police?"

"First thing. And we sent Patrick out to look around. But…" And she shook her head.

Lex barely heard them. He was too busy studying Chris. The young man was staring at the hysterical mother. He winced once or twice, like he had a headache. And he was holding a silver necklace, thumb rubbing back and forth across the heart-shaped pendent.

"Oh, my God!" the mother sobbed. As her hands flew up to cover her face, the doll fell, unnoticed, to the floor. "This is all my fault! Why did I leave her out there by herself?!" As she started to pace again, her 'entourage' following helplessly behind, her foot kicked the doll, knocking it several feet away.

Only Lex noticed Chris walk over to the doll, bend over to pick it up. Standing erect, he held it in both hands, closed his eyes, and bowed his head.

_What is he doing?_ Lex thought, more than a little puzzled.

"I'm sure we'll find her," Eleanor said with forced optimism. "Once the police get here, everything will be fine." Then, with a weak smile, she turned and rejoined the others who were trying to calm the mother down.

Just then, Martha noticed Chris. The young man still stood in the same position, eyes closed, doll clutched in his hands. Only, now, there was a frown of frustration on his face.

"Chris?" She hurried to his side. "What are you doing?" She laid her hand on his shoulder...

…And Chris gasped, like someone who'd just remembered to breathe. Opening his eyes, he lifted his head. And, to Lex, he looked like a predator that had just caught scent of his prey.

"Gotcha," Chris muttered. Then, he turned abruptly and walked out of the shop.

Martha seemed surprised by his sudden departure. Then, looking bemused, she hurried after him.

A little bemused himself, Lex followed. He got outside in time to see Chris run into an alley across the street. Martha was stuck at the curb, and had to wait for a truck to pass by before she could start across.

"Wait, Mrs. Kent," Lex held up a staying hand. "What's going on?"

Martha a bit taken aback to find him standing there. "Lex. I didn't…" She stuttered to a stop, seeming to have trouble figuring out what to say. Finally, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I have to follow Chris." And, just like that, she crossed the street.

Not to be deterred, Lex was right behind her.

The trip down the alley was surreal. A part of Lex wondered why he was doing this, tagging along on an 'adventure' he knew nothing about. But, for the moment, he'd decided to let curiosity be his guide.

Finally, he and Martha reached the end of the alley, and the narrow street—there more for garbage truck access than anything else—behind the buildings. There was a wooden fence on the other side, fronted by a row of Dumpsters. When Chris stepped out from behind one of them, it was almost anticlimactic. But, then, a little girl, about 5 years old, stepped out behind him. And, in her arms, she held a dirty, squirming puppy.

"Oh, my goodness. I don't believe…" Martha began. A relieved smile lighting her face, she looked down at the little girl. "And who are you?"

"I think this is Tracy," Chris said, grinning.

The little girl gasped, and looked up at Chris with something like awe. "How did you know my name? I didn't tell ya."

Chris shrugged. "Lucky guess."

"Well, young lady," Martha scolded, "your mommy is worried sick about you. From what I heard, you were supposed to wait for her in your car."

The child's eyes widened in sudden fear. "Oh, yeah. I forgot." Chastened, she bit her lip and looked down at the ground. "I didn't mean to. Honest." But, a second later, she looked up at Chris. And there was a twinkle of calculation in her eyes. "Do you think my mom will let me keep the puppy?"

Martha Kent huffed, mouth dropping open in astonishment. But there was amusement there too.

Lex smiled at the little girl. You had to admire that kind of audacity, especially in a five year old.

Rolling his eyes, Chris put his hand on Tracy's shoulder and steered her towards the alley. When he looked up and spotted Lex, he seemed startled, like he hadn't known he was there. And had been there throughout this little adventure.

Stumbling to a stop, he eyed Lex uncertainly. "Uh, hi."

Lex simply smiled. Once again, his association with the Kents was turning out to be very…interesting.

When the police arrived, there was nothing for them to do but watch the happy reunion between mother and child. Shelly Newbern alternated between showering her little girl with kisses, and scolding her for getting out of the car to follow a stray puppy. The fact that she crossed the street to do it made her "crime" even more severe.

From a few feet away, Lex watched Tracy "take her medicine". Tracy the scolding in stride, and seemed more concerned with keeping the puppy—the cause of this afternoon's drama—from jumping out of her arms.

Martha and Eleanor—who owned the antique shop—stood nearby, chatting softly, watching the Newberns with the smiles of two mothers who had gone through something similar, and were glad to see this happy ending.

And the mysterious Chris had returned to the Kents' truck. After tossing the shopping bags that had littered the sidewalk into the cab, he'd turned to lean against the truck. At present, he was watching the people who walked by with great interest.

The police had asked Chris how he found Tracy so fast, more out of curiosity than anything else. According to Chris, he saw the little girl wander into the alley, and didn't think much of it at the time. A little later, when he found out a mother was frantically searching for her lost child, he just put two and two together.

It was a good story. Lex would've believed it, if he hadn't seen what he'd seen.

Hands in the pockets of his coat, Lex walked towards the truck.

"Well," Lex began, "looks like you're the hero of the afternoon."

Chris shrugged. "It was no big deal."

"Oh, I think Shelly Newbern would beg to differ." Lex held out his hand. "I'm Lex Luthor."

Chris pushed away from the truck. Glancing down at Lex's hand, he hesitate for a moment. Finally, when he returned the handshake, he winced a little. Almost like he expected…something to happen. When it didn't, a smile spread across his face. "Chris Halliwell."

Deciding not to be insulted—that there was more to that hesitation than a prejudice against the Luthor's—Lex smiled. "A friend of the Kents?"

Chris's eyes narrowed as he gave the matter a moment's thought. "Yeah, you can say that. I'm staying with them for a while."

"And have you gotten the hang of farm work yet?" When Chris gave him a quizzical look, Lex offered, "I stayed there not so long ago. It was…interesting."

Eyebrows disappearing beneath his bangs, Chris gave his clothes a quick once over. "They made _you_ do chores?"

"Actually, I volunteered. And, to be honest, I found I enjoyed myself."

"Doing chores?" Chris asked, voice rising in disbelief. Then, he shrugged and shook his head. "If you say so."

Lex smiled, surprised by how open this young man was. Although he wasn't all that young, was he? If Lex had to guess, he'd say Chris was just a year younger than he was, if that. But there was something so youthful about him. His voice was animated. Expressions danced across his face, changing quicksilver fast. And he was never completely still. He shrugged. He shifted from foot to foot. His hands moved as he talked.

Suddenly, Chris winced, and pressed his fingers against his left temple. And Lex was reminded of why he'd come over.

"I have to admit, I'm more than a little curious," he began.

"About what?" Chris asked absently, still massaging his temple.

"About how you really found Shelly Newbern."

Chris froze. Piercing green eyes flew to Lex's face. And, in an instant, Lex knew there was a core of steel beneath that youthful exuberance.

"I explained that," Chris finally said.

"I know what you said. But I arrived on the scene soon enough to know there's more to it than that."

Lex held the stare and waited. Waited for excuses, evasions, denials. Waited for Chris to, first, pretend he didn't know what Lex was talking about, then try to convince him there'd been nothing out of the ordinary about the way he'd found the little girl.

Instead, Chris simply shrugged again and said, "It kinda runs in the family."

Lex was almost caught off guard by the half-admission, the vague confirmation.

"Oh, man!" Chris exclaimed. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the silver necklace. "I almost forgot about this." Then, with a guarded smile and a "Nice meeting you," he left Lex and jogged over to Shelly Newbern.

Chris gave the woman the necklace. From the way she reacted, it was obvious it was hers. She even reached up to her neck, as if surprised to find she wasn't still wearing it.

As Lex watched from a distance, his mind raced. That small taste of the truth had whetted his appetite for more.


	11. Chapter 11

"Lex was there?" Clark asked, a hint of worry in his voice. Reaching into the back of the truck, he lifted a 25 pound bag of feed like it was filled with cotton balls. Effortlessly, he tossed it on top of three others right outside the barn door.

"I was too busy to notice at the time," Chris said "but, according to your mom, he was pretty much there the whole time." Chris held his arm out towards the truck, and made a lifting gesture with his hand. Another bag of feed rose into the air, seemingly on its own. A flick of a finger sent the bag flying past Clark to land neatly atop the growing stack. "And he would have to be blind not to realize something…out of the ordinary was going on."

"And you _told_ him?" This time, the worry in his voice went beyond a hint. Clark had spent almost three years trying to hide his secret from Lex. Evading his questions, coming up with excuses for all the weird things Lex had seen, outright lying on more than one occasion.

Yet, even while Clark was trying to hide the truth from Lex, a part of him thought it would be easier to just tell him. Clark even had a pretty vivid nightmare in which Lex found out the truth. And Dream Lex didn't care that Clark was from another planet. What made him furious was that Clark had lied to him for so long.

But the importance of hiding his secrets had been grilled into him since he was old enough to talk. It was second nature to him now. An almost involuntary reflex.

And here was Chris, spilling his secrets like they were no big deal.

"I didn't exactly tell him anything," Chris said. This time, he TK'd two sacks from the truck. "More like I didn't try to pretend what he saw was normal." Depositing the sacks with another wave of his hand, he gave Clark a quizzical look. "Bad idea?"

"Well, not really," Clark hedged. "Lex isn't a bad guy. He's one of my closest friends. It's just…he has a tendency to let his curiosity get the better of him, especially about things that are hard to explain."

"Like you?"

"Like me," Clark nodded. Subconsciously not wanting to be outdone by Chris, he grabbed two sacks out of the truck. "He's seen me do enough, and seen enough strange stuff happen around me, to know something's up with me, he just doesn't know what it is. And, once he gets…interested in something, it's kinda hard for him to let go."

"Well, it not like he saw me orb out right in the middle of main street." Chris shrugged. "He'll probably just figure I'm psychic or something. Which is weird, yeah. But not 'from another dimension' weird."

Giving it some thought, Clark decided Chris might be right. After all, Lex had taken Ryan being a telepath in stride. In fact, he acted like being around a kid who could read his mind was no big deal. Even went out of his way to spend time with Ryan when he was sick in the hospital. So, maybe Lex would just figure Chris had some kind of ESP and leave it at that.

Maybe.

After that, the two worked in silence. Chris had just TK'd the last bag onto the stack when Clark saw a familiar car pull up.

"Who's that?" Chris asked, eyeing the car with interest.

"Some friends of mine." Clark gave Chris a serious look. "And remember. You're the son of one of my mom's old friends."

"Got it," Chris said. "Believe me, it won't be the toughest part I've ever played."

The car parked a few feet away. It had barely come to a full stop when Chloe shot out of it like a force of nature, gold hair and red coat making her stand out amongst the surrounding greenery.

"Hey, Clark," she said, but her eyes were most definitely on the guy beside him. "You must be Chris, the mystery man who showed up on the Kents' doorstep without warning after traveling halfway across the country."

"Uh, yeah," Chris said, looking a little taken aback. The young reporter sometimes has that effect on people. "That would be me."

"Chris, this is Chloe," Clark said, wary eyes shifting from Chloe to Chris and back again. She looked about ready to pounce on the poor guy.

"So, what brings you to Smallville?" Chloe asked. "I mean, it's nice place and all, but I'm sure it doesn't hold a candle to San Francisco."

Just then, the passenger door opened, and the car's other occupant stepped out. "Chloe, can't you wait five minutes before starting the interview? I mean, you just met the guy."

"What?" Chloe threw an indignant glance over her shoulder. "I'm just curious."

"And this is Pete," Clark said, concluding the introductions.

"Nice to meet you, man," Pete said.

Chris nodded in his direction. "You to."

"So, what brings you guys over?" Clark asked, as if he didn't already know. He was surprised Chloe held out for this long.

"Consider us the Welcome Wagon," she said. "We brought sodas, pizza, and other assorted junk foods. I figured we could all hang out." She threw one of her thousand-watt smiles in Chris's direction. "And get to know each other better."

And Clark would swear Chris looked a little scared.

* * *

They took their little impromptu party up to Clark's loft.

By the time most of the pizza was gone, Chris decided he liked Clark's friends.

Pete was friendly and outgoing, but laid back at the same time. He reminded Chris of some of the friends he'd had before his life disintegrated into chaos.

Chloe's energy and enthusiasm was intimidating at first. But, once he answered a few of her questions—which were all pretty innocent—she settled down. When she mentioned she was the editor of the school newspaper, Chris almost told her Aunt Phoebe was a columnist for the Chicago Bay Mirror. Then he remembered she might not be in this dimension. And Chloe definitely seemed like the type who would check.

"So," Chloe began, lounging on the sofa next to Chris. "We heard about the little adventure you had this afternoon. Only your second day here, and you're already rescuing lost children and stray puppies."

Chris was surprised. "You heard about that? Already?" It only happened a few hours ago, and it hardly seemed like news worthy of the local grapevine.

"Something like this might not be a big deal in a place like San Francisco. But Smallville is a slow news town."

"Right," Pete snorted as he reached into a bag of chips. "Nothing exciting ever happens here."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Okay, sometimes we have a rampaging meteor freak causing all kinds of havoc and mayhem. But, most days, like today, things are pretty quiet. So, by dinner, just about everyone will know how you saved Tracy Newbern."

"I didn't _save_ her," Chris pointed out. "First of all, the only thing she was in danger of was being licked to death by a puppy in serious need of a bath. Secondly, and pretty much guessed where she was."

"Maybe so. But, to some people, you're a hero…whether you like it or not. Which means you and Clark have something in common." Then she turned a very pretty, very charming smile on Chris. Which instantly made him nervous. "You know, I sometimes do pieces on local heroes for the _Torch_. And, while you're not exactly local, your damsel in distress was. So, how would you feel about a brief interview?"

Eyes widening, Chris stammered, "Uh, I don't know. I…I uh…I'll think about it?"

"Oh, come on. It'll be painless, I…"

"Hey, Chloe," Clark interrupted. "Didn't you mention something about strange lights being spotted over Peaceful Meadows Cemetery?"

Pete chuckled. "Oh, smooth move, Clark."

Eyes narrowed, Chloe glared at Clark, as if she knew exactly what he was doing. But it seemed the tale of the strange lights was one she found too irresistible to ignore. "Well, according to my sources, it started about a week ago. Several people…"

Sighing in relief, Chris looked in Clark's direction and mouthed the words, 'Thank you'. Clark shrugged, mouth curving into a smug smile.

Grabbing the last piece of pizza, Chris listened as Chloe explained her investigation of the strange lights. And it was actually kind of interesting.

* * *

Lex sat at his desk, elbow resting on the arm of his chair, fingers pressed to his temple. Anyone looking at him would think he was idle, completely relaxed. But his mind was racing, going over this afternoon's events again and again. Forcing his mind to see details he'd missed before.

He'd been dealing with Clark's evasiveness for so long. Not only did his friend refuse to tell him what his secrets were, he refused to admit there were any secrets to tell. Lex was a patient man but, after nearly three years, the situation was becoming a little frustrating.

Meeting someone who didn't try to deny that something out of the ordinary had happened, didn't think flimsy excuses could make Lex discount things he'd seen with his own eyes, had been…refreshing.

Eyes narrowed, Lex read over the definition splashed across his computer screen again.

**_psychometry_** ** _,_** _also called Object_ _Reading_ _. A process whereby facts or impressions about a person or thing are received through contact with an object belonging to or associated with that person. Rings, photographs, items of clothing, and similar tokens are often used. Contact with a person's belongings may bring about images or visions in the psychometrist's mind that correspond to real facts (sometimes still in the future) in the life of the owner. Psychometry has been used to find lost persons or things, and to solve crimes._

That certainly seemed to fit what Lex saw Chris do this afternoon. When he found the necklace Shelly Newbern lost, touched it, he sensed her fear. Later, by touching Tracy Newbern's doll, he was able to find the little girl.

All very interesting, but not really unusual in Lex's experience. He'd had dealings with psychics before. Like Ryan, who could read his mind. And, in college, he knew a girl who often got a "feeling" when something bad was going to happen. She never knew what it was exactly, or who it was going to happen to. Still, when she said she had a bad feeling, the people around her knew to worry, because she was always right.

But, something—some instinct, or maybe some sixth sense of his own—told Lex that Chris was more than a young man with psychic abilities. There was more there, a bigger mystery to be solved.

And nothing tempted Lex Luthor more than a good mystery.


	12. Chapter 12

Turning his head against the pillow, Chris glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. The glowing green numbers read 2:14 am.

Groaning softly, he reached over to turn on the lamp. He was so tired, he couldn't see straight. But, every time he closed his eyes, he got that feeling. He didn't want to call it panic. More like mild anxiety…that made it hard to breathe, and had his heart trying to pound out of his chest. During the day, he'd been so busy, it was easier to repress. But at night, with the house quiet and still, his mind was free to think and worry.

Tonight, after the Kents went to bed, he paid another visit to the "spot" where he'd arrived. But while he found that orbing that far was a little easier—it still left him tired, but not completely drained—this trip hadn't been any more helpful than the last one. He'd tried every spell he knew that might re-open that doorway. Or even help him communicate with his family. But, again, nothing worked.

Sighing, Chris opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out the notebook he bought at the thrift store, a deal at 25 cents. He bought it with the idea of working on some new spells. Without the Book of Shadows, it was the best he could do.

Chris sat up in bed and leaned against the headboard. As he doodled, waiting for inspiration to strike, he explored his options. Truth was, there weren't many. Trying new spells where he knew the portal was, hoping one would work, was about all he could come up with. Well, he'd thought about contacting this dimension's version of his family. But, considering how magic worked here, he doubted they'd have the power to help him. They probably weren't even witches here.

As he drew some squiggly lines on the paper, his thoughts turned to the Kents. They were, as Aunt Paige would say, good people. They didn't really know him, yet they'd taken him in, saved him from sleeping in cornfields, dining on junk food, and taking baths in the nearest, probably ice-cold, river. Thanks to them, where he was going to sleep, and what he was going to eat, were two less things he had to worry about.

Plus, he liked Clark. Chris had missed having a guy to just hang out with. He hadn't really had that since Wyatt turned. In the present, he was too busy hunting demons to make friends. And, in the future, those he met who were around his own were usually too busy struggling to survive to want to pal around.

Anyway, as much as the Kents seemed to be a gift from above (and Chris glanced up at the ceiling, wondering if the Elders existed in this dimension) it wasn't like they could help him with his biggest problem. So he'd decided not to bother them with it. Why make them worry about something they couldn't do anything about?

And, there it was. Few options. No real plan. He sure wouldn't put money on his chances of getting home.

Still, he had to believe there was a way. And he wouldn't stop looking for it. 'Quitter' just wasn't a word in Chris Halliwell's vocabulary. Besides, if his family was looking for him—and he was 110% sure they were—that upped his odds.

Yawning, Chris put pen to paper and got to work on a new spell.

* * *

It took Clark a few of days to realize something was wrong with Chris.

It wasn't anything big or obvious. In fact, Chris acted like everything was fine. He helped around the farm and the house, ran errands, helped Clark with after school chores. He cracked jokes, laughed, talked freely at the dinner table. If being stuck in the wrong dimension bothered him, he didn't let it show.

But Clark was starting to notice things. There were shadows under Chris's eyes, like he wasn't getting much sleep. And, once or twice, Clark caught him staring off into space, green eyes dark with worry.

Clark noticed something else. Chris never mentioned his situation. Since that first night, he hadn't said a single word about being trapped in another dimension, or trying to find a way home. Which was strange because, in Chris's shoes, Clark figured he wouldn't be able to think of anything else. So, Chris probably _was_ worried about it. He was just keeping it all bottled up inside.

Clark knew first hand what that could do to a person. So, on Thursday night, he went looking for Chris, hoping he could get him to talk.

He found Chris in the loft, stretched out on the sofa, scribbling in a notebook.

"Hey," Clark said to get his attention.

Startled, Chris glanced up. "Uh, hey." Closing the notebook, he sat up and placed his feet on the floor. "What's up?" he asked, pushing his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes.

"Dinner's almost ready. Mom should be calling us in a few minutes."

"Cool. I can always eat."

"I noticed," Clark grinned. Considering how slender Chris was, it was amazing how much he could put away.

"Now you sound like my Aunt Paige," Chris said. Then, he frowned thoughtfully. "And Aunt Phoebe. And Mom and Dad. And I think my entire family thinks I'm a pig."

Laughing, Clark sat down on the sofa. "Join the club. According to my mom, the day I snuck into the kitchen, scarfed down a dozen freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, and told her I was still hungry, she knew she was in trouble." Then, glancing down at the notebook, he said casually, "So, what are you doing? Working on ways to get home?"

"Uh, yeah." Looking uneasy, he laid a protective hand atop the notebook. "I'm not having much luck, though."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Chris gave him a doubtful look. "I really don't think so."

Clark felt a little insulted. "Hey, you never know. Maybe if we talked about it, bounced some ideas around…"

Chris shook his head. "I don't think talking will do much good."

"Still, maybe I could help."

"What? Your family have a stray dimensional doorway opener laying around?"

"Well, no. But…"

"Then don't worry about it, Clark. Really. I'll figure something out."

Clark frowned. He wasn't used to people turning down his help. In fact, he was usually the one doing the turning down.

"So," Chris said, "I heard your folks talking about going out on a date?"

Clark rolled his eyes. He knew an attempt to change the subject when he heard one. In fact, he was usually the one doing that, too. Still, since Chris didn't want to talk about the other thing, Clark decided to play along. "Yeah. It's something they do every so often. I think they're trying to keep the romance in their relationship." And Clark shuddered a little. Having parents who were so obviously in love was great. But thinking of them as 'romantic' could was a little disturbing.

Chris's smile was wistful. And there was a hint of sadness to it. "My parents used to do that. My dad's, uh, job kept him away from home a lot. I mean, like, months at a time. So much, they actually separated a few times. Not because they didn't love each other," Chris rushed to add. "But Mom didn't want Dad to feel guilty about not being around for her. And Dad wanted Mom to be able to move on and have some kind of life, even if it wasn't with him."

Clark's heart sank in sympathy. The thought of his own parents not being together was more than disturbing. He didn't even want to imagine it. "But your parents are back together now, right?"

Chris kind of winced. "Well, it's complicated. But they did decide that they loved each other, long absences or not. So, whenever Dad got a break from his work, they'd do that whole 'candlelit dinners/picnics in the park/walks on the beach' thing."

And, even though Clark had never met Chris's parents, he felt oddly relieved.

"Anyway,"—Chris shook his head, as if to shake off unpleasant thoughts—"since it's just the two of us tomorrow night, what do you want to do?"

"How about, tomorrow afternoon, we drop by the Talon."

"The Talon?"

"Yeah. It's a coffee house in town. Lex owns it, along with one of my other friends. It's been closed for repairs all week, which is why I haven't taken you there sooner. And you just don't come to Smallville and _not_ drop by the Talon."

"And who am I to break the rules," Chris said, with a little smirk that said breaking the rules wasn't a real problem for him. "But tell me something. They got stuff besides coffee at this coffee house?"

Clark, rolled his eyes, this time good-naturedly. "Yes, they have food too. In fact, some of the best cakes and pies in town, courtesy of my mom."

"Then I'm there."

* * *

Friday turned out to be a slow work day on the Kent farm. When Jonathan left to pick up a delivery, hw pretty much gave Chris the rest of the day off. So, now, he was sitting at the kitchen table, writing in his spell book. According to the clock, Clark was out of school by now. Once he got home, they'd be leaving for that Talon place.

At the moment, Chris was wondering if he should try a potion to boost his spells. But potions could be tricky. He didn't have the Book of Shadows, so would have to rely on memory and guesswork to decide what and how much of each ingredient to add. And where was he going to get burdock root, or powdered unicorn horn (from a horn that had been lost naturally, of course) in Smallville, Kansas?

"That's very pretty," a voice suddenly said from behind him.

Startled, Chris nearly leaped out of his seat. As he realized Martha Kent was glancing over his shoulder, he had to resist the urge to slam the notebook shut. That would really make her suspicious.

"I didn't know you wrote poetry, Chris," she continued, moving over to the sink.

"Uh, it's a hobby I picked up," Chris said, wondering how much of his 'poetry' she'd read. She must have just glanced at a rhyme or two because, otherwise, she'd definitely have some questions.

"I used to write a little poetry," Martha said. "It was terrible, but I loved doing it."

Smiling noncommittally, Chris picked up the pen.

And, like yesterday, he was filled with emotions that weren't his own. But, there was flashes of blinding light, or ice needles stabbing at his brain. He just felt fear, and dread. Determination, and guilt.

Frowning, he stared at the pen. It wasn't his. Last night, when he took the notebook to Clark's loft, he realized he didn't have anything to write with. He'd been glad to see the pen lying on the table.

But the pen wasn't Clark's. Chris was sure these feelings weren't coming from him. They were coming from someone else. Someone in trouble.

Frowning, Chris took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to sense where the feelings were coming from. And he found the origin pretty easily. Well, he didn't know _where_ exactly, as in a street address. But, wherever it was, he'd have no problem getting there.

Urgently, he stood up, almost knocking the chair over.

Martha turned to look at him. "Chris?"

"Uh, I can't really explain right now, but I have to go." And, without further explanation, he orbed.

Martha stared, mouth hanging open. She'd never seen Chris teleport. Not from the 'outside', anyway.

Alicia's teleporting had been violent, even fierce, in a way. Like she was ripping a hole in the air itself. And she left a sickly green, Kryptonite haze in her wake.

But Chris's teleporting—orbing—was beautiful. In the blink of an eye, he became a column of sparkling, neon blue lights. The familiar sound of light trying to sing filled her kitchen. And, as the column of lights drifted towards the ceiling, they faded away.

Martha considered herself an intelligent, articulate woman. But, in that moment, the only thing she could think of to say was, "Wow."


End file.
